


A Soft Place to Land

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: Arianne is not a woman who is used to competing for a man’s affections, he knows, nor a woman who would seem willing to. And yet she would do so for him, a man still little more than a boy who has spent most of his life being someone who wants, rather than someone who is wanted.





	A Soft Place to Land

“Is your heart spoken for?”

The words rouse Jon from a near sleep. He finds that’s his state with Arianne much of the time; if he’s not fucking her, he’s recovering from doing so. His only excuse is that he’d spent so long believing such pleasures were barred to him. No matter how he reaches for control, his longing is always stronger: for the pleasure of her touch, of being inside her, for her kiss, for her warmth, for the simple human comfort of her. Sometimes he thinks he could do no more than lay his head upon her breast and be satisfied.

Other times, he could fuck her inside out and still want more.

“Is my what?” he asks, turning his head on his folded forearms to face her. She lounges on her side, head propped on one hand as she regards him with something akin to possession. There’s no modesty about her, no maidenly shyness in her nudity. Nor is there much vanity. Once, she might have posed herself carefully, their affair still new enough – and his guilt still strong enough – that even in rest, she busied herself with the act of seduction. Now she disports herself with complete ease and familiarity, which is a far more effective seduction for someone like Jon.

“Your heart,” she says. “Is it spoken for?”

Jon snorts a laugh and unfurls one arm to wrap it around her waist and haul her body up against his. The feel of her will never lose its potency, he thinks. Her breasts press and flatten on his side, and she instinctively insinuates her leg around and between his own. Jon grows hard, his cock pressing into the mattress beneath him even though he’d spent less than an hour before. Tonight is a night to fuck her inside out and still want more, it would seem.

“Somehow I don’t believe that my heart is the part of me you’re after,” he tells her. The soft skin behind her ear carries the familiar, intoxicating scent of her and he tongues it the way he wants to tongue her cunt. The way he probably will tongue her cunt shortly.

“Careful,” she warns, “lest you wound my feelings.” The words are a jest, but Jon can hear the layer of truth beneath them. He shifts to his side facing her, contrite, and kisses her sweetly, softly, teasing her tongue from her lips to suck gently upon it.

“No one holds my heart,” he says.

“No one? Not some Wildling woman from your time north? Or one of your Black Brothers? I’ve heard it gets lonely at the Wall.” She’s teasing, but Jon had known more than one man who’d done just what she suggests. It occurs to him that she would enjoy Satin; if he weren’t still sworn to the Night’s Watch, Jon would effect an introduction between them. Then he imagines the trouble the two of them could get up to, and thinks perhaps it’s for the best that they’re leagues apart. Ygritte’s face flickers through his mind; even all these years later, he still doesn’t know if what he felt for her was love. Whatever it was, it’s faded with time, his regrets taking on softer edges.

Arianne misreads his contemplation. She attempts a playful tone, but Jon can hear her vulnerability when she says “If so, we can share you.”

There’s such simple generosity in the offer. Arianne is not a woman who is used to competing for a man’s affections, he knows, nor a woman who would seem willing to. And yet she would do so for him, a man still little more than a boy who has spent most of his life being someone who wants, rather than someone who is wanted. Something warm and liquid spreads in Jon’s chest, chasing away the chill that’s never quite left him, though he left the Wall and traveled south to warmer climes many moons ago. He kisses her again, deep and hard this time, one hand at her nape to hold her close.

“There is no one else,” he tells her. “Only you.”

She melts against him, parting her thighs and pulling him towards her until his cock is sliding inside her. He’ll fuck her until neither of them can think, he knows, and then he’ll fuck her again, all night until their need for one another is quenched with the morrow’s light and they finally sleep. It’s a pattern they’ve followed before. Jon thinks now that it’s a pattern that may never end.


End file.
